


Day 29: Numb

by Aelaer



Series: Whumptober 2019 [29]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Caretaking, Character Study, Gen, Psychological Trauma, Self-Doubt, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 17:46:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21342211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelaer/pseuds/Aelaer
Summary: Stephen couldn't stand the thought of anyone looking at him right now.Unfortunately, nothing ever worked Stephen's way because at that moment an apprentice rounded the corner and halted, staring at him with wide and somewhat horrified eyes.The lingering humiliation made its way to the forefront of his mind. Stephen could only imagine what the apprentice— her name was escaping him, and that was a further embarrassment— thought of seeing the Sorcerer Supreme, the one who was meant to lead and guide them, in such a defeated state.He swallowed; he needed to saysomething.  "It looks worse than it actually is," was what came out.
Relationships: Stephen Strange & Wong (Marvel)
Series: Whumptober 2019 [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1510820
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	Day 29: Numb

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a series (the one with the demon) and if you'd like to figure out what the heck's going on, I recommend reading the other parts first :D
> 
> Part One: [Day 20: Trembling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21234269)  
Part Two: [Day 22: Alt #6 - Lost](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21278225)  
Part Three: [Day 25: Humiliation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21306446)
> 
> Also!! Dragonnan made fan art(!) that I link directly in the story within the first scene. I'm so chuffed, so so chuffed.

Stephen managed to make a portal from Fukushima (noting the area to take care of the connection to Mephisto's dimension… later. He'd take care of it later) and stumbled into one of the hallways of the New York Sanctum. He still kept a set of rooms here that he preferred over the Ancient One's former quarters in Kamar-Taj, and he planned to mentally alert Wong of his safe return before quietly cleaning himself up, away from prying, judging eyes.

He couldn't stand the thought of anyone looking at him right now.

Unfortunately, nothing ever worked Stephen's way because at that moment an apprentice rounded the corner and halted, staring at him with wide and somewhat horrified eyes.

The lingering humiliation made its way to the forefront of his mind. Stephen could only imagine what the apprentice— her name was escaping him, and that was a further embarrassment— thought of seeing the Sorcerer Supreme, the one who was meant to lead and guide them, in such a defeated state.

He swallowed; he needed to say _something_. ["It looks worse than it actually is," was what came out.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21266534)

"I'll— I'll go get help!" she said, and before he could stop her, she ran around the corner, and he doubted he had the energy to run after her. Well, he could _fly_ after her, but he was pretty certain the Cloak wouldn't agree to it.

Stephen pressed his lips together and strode to his rooms. He could at least start cleaning himself up and begin mending himself so he looked less pathetic to the other Masters who were sure to eventually come.

In his bathroom he kept a first aid kit specifically for situations where he wanted to avoid going to the Kamar-Taj infirmary (and honestly, with the feats healing magic was capable of, he was able to tend to himself most of the time as it was; he knew more than enough about the human body to properly do it). However, after he shed his destroyed robes and tried to mend himself inwardly as he cleaned off the blood outwardly, he found that he currently lacked most of the energy necessary for the task. Within Mephisto's dimension— his so-called 'hell'— Stephen had been largely muted from calling upon the powers of the Vishanti that were granted, as needed, to the Sorcerer Supreme. Something within the dimension blocked his easy access, forcing him to draw from his own internal powers for all combat.

_Another failure on my part_, a bitter voice in the back of his mind whispered. He pushed the intruding thought away for the moment; the reality was, he was left with several nasty, deep scratches and a particularly vicious bite on his leg that were still sluggishly bleeding and he couldn't internally repair them as he usually did, not right away. And he absolutely would not call upon the Vishanti for a minor thing such as his non life-threatening injuries.

Stephen exhaled and held his head in his throbbing hands.

A short time later, he looked up as he heard the door to his rooms open. Without knocking, either; it was probably Wong. "In the bathroom," he called as he straightened himself, though his words were tinted with resignation.

It was indeed Wong (and thankfully only Wong). His friend's face remained stoic as he looked him over. "Patil wasn't exaggerating about your current state." Oh, right. That was her name.

"Demons are tricky," Stephen said, attempting to sound lighthearted but falling flat.

Wong shot him an accessing look at the comment, then said, "You should be in the infirmary."

"No," he retorted, then lowered the sharpness in his voice at the equally sharp look from Wong. "I can take care of them properly once I've regained some of my energy."

He frowned. "You're depleted?"

A pang of shame went through him once more. "I— I had trouble connecting to the Vishanti within the dimension."

Wong's frown remained. "That's unusually strong for a demon. Did it ever give you its name?"

"It called itself Mephisto."

Wong stilled and Stephen looked at him via the bathroom mirror; if he had to make a guess, he would say that his friend was alarmed, of all things. Suddenly, he felt a not-so-subtle prodding from Wong as the other sorcerer attempted to enter his mind.

He immediately blocked him from access and scowled. "What the hell was that?" Stephen demanded.

"Demons are known to take up several different names, and for some centuries almost all of them called themselves Satan," Wong began. "Only in the last couple centuries have they begun distinguishing themselves once more, and the one that calls itself Mephisto is one of the most powerful demons of the multiverse." Wong's expression was unmoving, but Stephen could not help but felt he was being thoroughly analyzed. "He is well known for his ability to lay twisted seeds of thought in one's mind."

"I think I'm experienced enough to know when my mind's been messed with," Stephen retorted with a soft frown. "Now are you going to let me finish cleaning myself up so I can sleep and regain some energy?"

Wong continued to frown at him, but said, "I will start the mending process right now. Some of your wounds are still bleeding and your leg looks terrible."

His voice remained dry as he replied, "Thanks Wong."

Silence fell between them as Stephen carefully cleaned himself up and Wong began the healing process to more quickly mend the physical wounds. The doctor saw to cleaning out and patching up the bite on his leg (and the nice thing about the magic Wong was currently using was that it would eliminate both mundane and mystical issues that could come with being bitten by an imp of all things). He could feel Wong numbing some of the spots on his back and applying sets of sutures made of eldritch energy; physical sutures would only come if there was still need for them after twenty-four hours of magical healing. The fascinating part about it all was that waiting for a day, which would be an awful decision without magic, worked just fine with the dimensional energies they used to help heal physical wounds.

If he wasn't so good at defending Earth against attacks, he would have certainly transitioned to the medical wing of Kamar-Taj after finishing his apprenticeship.

_But you're not that good, are you? _ran through his head as the image of the souls he had tried to save, and failed to save, flashed across his memory.

Something of a numbness settled over him as he reviewed his trials against Mephisto and all the mistakes he made time and again throughout the few experienced hours within his company. Stephen realized now, far too late, that he should have pushed his bargaining with each game; the demon liked games, so he should have taken the time to try and save some souls during the chess game, for instance. But he was so caught up in his own hurts and trying to block out the demon's ramblings and the screams of the tortured souls trapped within that dimension that he didn't even consider making something of his win until after he said _checkmate_. And his performance in the arena was completely inexcusable; if that is what he looked like when relying on his own powers without the assistance of the Vishanti, what sort of poor excuse of a sorcerer was he? In his heart he had doubted his worth to inherit the Ancient One's title, and in one of his first true tests since he received it, he found his doubts had merit.

Such failure was completely unacceptable.

Stephen stirred from his thoughts when Wong stepped back. "Your body will continue to mend overnight," he said, voice stoic and unreadable as ever.

He cleared his throat. "Thank you," he said, this time with sincerity.

Wong made a noise in acknowledgement, then cleaned the mess Stephen had made with a wave of his hand. "I'm surprised you haven't asked about your friend."

"Fr— oh my God, Christine." How in the fucking hell had that slipped his mind? Of _all_ things? It seemed he was both an inadequate defender _and_ friend. "Did you hear from her? How is she?"

"Doctor Palmer was naturally frantic when she called about twelve hours ago," he answered. "I assured her that she was safe and that you were 'taking care of' the situation. I offered an acolyte to stay with her the rest of the day and throughout the evening, but she declined. She does want you to call her as soon as possible."

The thought of talking to Christine right at that moment left a strange feeling in his gut. "What time is it?" He hadn't even looked.

"Here in New York it's just past four in the morning."

He let his shoulders relax; he could hold off on calling her. "I'll call her in a few hours. I should…" Stephen gestured to the adjourning bedroom.

Wong nodded. "We would be interested in hearing your experience within this demon's realm, Stephen; it may help us glean some insight into what to expect, especially with one as old as Mephisto."

"Yeah," he answered, not meeting his eyes; the thought of relaying his experience to all the Masters of Kamar-Taj left an uneasy feeling in his stomach. In the past he would have been required to; as the Sorcerer Supreme, it was at his own discretion.

But to tell them all about every single one of his failures? Of every inefficiency and inadequacy?

"And Stephen?" He blinked and looked at Wong, who now stood at the bathroom entrance. "If you feel any sort of residual effects from Mephisto's dimension, you need to go to the infirmary."

"Yeah, sure thing," he said, and Wong gave him one last discerning look before departing for the night.

He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror: he had managed to wash off all the blood, but he was pallid and still torn in several places as the magic did its slow work. In the background, he saw the Cloak continue to hover in the corner, silent but steadfast. The silent witness to his failings.

Stephen blinked and rubbed his eyes with a shaky hand. He needed to sleep and get a grip on himself before moving further. He pulled himself up and trudged to bed, not bothering with the work of putting on pajamas.

The uneasiness remained upon him as he eventually fell asleep.

* * *

The next day was no easier. While his body felt much better and his magic greatly restored, his failings from the other day felt no lighter.

What he needed was to be proactive. So Stephen forced himself out of bed and got to work. The first order of the day was Christine.

Christine was… Christine said she didn't blame him. That she honestly was surprised something like that hadn't happened sooner, considering everything. That it really wasn't his fault.

He blamed himself, but didn't say anything. What he did tell her was that he was negligent in not warding her apartment and failing to give her any sort of protection and would remedy the former immediately, and the latter shortly.

She said it really wasn't his fault again, but he started upon the wards on the apartment anyway, and she went off to get them refreshments. She didn't have to go anywhere, anyway; she'd taken the day off. He couldn't blame her.

Once he was finished with that, his next order of business was dealing with the connection to Mephisto's hell in Fukushima. That was easily enough solved, and he was able to do it without bothering anyone else with the mostly minor task. Not bothering anyone seemed a solid plan as he figured out the best way to learn from his failures.

It was one reason he decided to release the (few) souls he managed to save on his own. Besides, Stephen already had a good idea of what needed to be done after Everything with Thanos; there were just a couple elements he wanted to double-check. Thankfully, his new position meant he had full run of the library now. He could even take the books as needed, but Stephen didn't particularly want Wong knowing which books he was reading through, lest it bring up the whole story surrounding the souls entombed in the gems. So he quietly found the material he needed to confirm the necessary steps, slipped the books back on their shelves, and left the library without so much as seeing the librarian.

He took the six souls to the Mirror Dimension in a quieter part of the New York Sanctum, locked the door, and spent the rest of the afternoon and evening properly releasing them. By the time he was finished, he was exhausted and absolutely had no desire to speak with anyone, so Stephen removed the lock from the door and portalled into his rooms. His healing body greedily grasped for sleep.

His next steps involved improvement and doing things with everything new he could learn. He had failures to atone for, which meant he had a lot of work to do. So Stephen settled in the Sanctum library and got started, first looking for more research regarding protective charms and talismans and what went into their craftsmanship.

Some hours into the day, a voice interrupted him. "Doctor Strange." Blinking, he looked up and saw Hamir standing near the library doors.

"Master Hamir." Why was he here?

"I came to see how you were faring; I understand you were wounded in your venturing within Mephisto's hell."

So Wong told him; a pang of annoyance went through him. Did Wong want everyone to know about how he came back, bloody and defeated? "Unfortunately so, but not so much that I cannot perform my duties," he reassured him.

A strange look passed over Hamir's face. "Yes, of course. Of that, I had no doubt. It is fortunate that it did not take a worse turn."

Something of a numb feeling went over him at Hamir's words. If the elder Master knew just how badly he had failed the tests put upon him within the dimension, he would be saying otherwise. And now, he had to make sure that he as the Sorcerer Supreme never failed such tests again. "Yes, fortunate," he muttered. "Please excuse me; I have a lot of work I need to do."

Hamir offered him a polite bow in return and took his leave; Stephen locked the door and put a ward up to prevent any portalling into the library so that he could remain undisturbed.

Some time later, he was pulled out of his studious trance by the cloak tapping his cheek. "What?" he asked it in annoyance. The cloak pointed to the window.

It was dark. Oh. He should… food would be a good idea, wouldn't it? But he had no desire to eat with anyone else, so he avoided the dining halls at Kamar-Taj and scrounged about the kitchen in the New York Sanctum for sustenance. It was rather late on the east coast, so he didn't encounter anyone with meal times that adhered to New York time. That worked all well and good for him.

The next few days fell into a very steady routine: wake, grab something quickly from the kitchen for breakfast to eat in the study he still had in New York, spend an hour or two checking the mystical energies for encroaching threats or strange anomalies, then go back to his studies on protective talismans. He'd grab a bite to eat after the rest of the New York dinner crowd was done, and for the most part successfully avoided people that way.

Wong eventually cornered him four days into this routine. "What are you doing?" he asked at the Sanctum library's doors.

"Talismans." Stephen shook his head. "What happened to Christine is inexcusable. I am rectifying the situation."

Wong frowned. "A reasonable concern, but no one has seen you for the last week. What of your other duties?"

He stilled at the question. "I am still monitoring the Earth actively for mystical threats; I do so daily. It has been quiet." _I am not failing my other duties. Protection is all I am focused on now. I am not failing._

"It has been," Wong said in neutral agreement. "Still, your presence has been missed during lessons and out on the training grounds. I know some apprentices are missing your guidance."

"I think they can last a few days without me," Stephen muttered, looking back to his books. Surely the apprentices realized that he had more important things that needed doing; once he was complete with this talisman, his next project was more long-term and probably could be juggled with the more mundane routines of teaching and guiding. But still… how was he meant to do those properly if he wasn't where he needed to be as Sorcerer Supreme?

"How long do you believe this project will last?" Wong asked.

"Not much longer," Stephen assured him. "A week at most. I'll show up for some of the lessons again after." Hopefully that got the other man off his back.

Wong gave him one of his indeterminable looks, then nodded once and shouted, "Maybe try to join us for a meal sometime again, too!"

Stephen wrinkled his nose at the comment and made a face to himself; meals wasted too much time. Too much talking, too much catching up, and he was best when he was alone while concentrating on things that needed to get done in a short amount of time. He was the exact same way during finals in college and throughout quite a bit of med school. It drove the few friends he had absolutely nuts, but it was well worth it.

And this, this would be well worth it as well.

* * *

Stephen gifted Christine a new talisman that only became visible when she wanted it to, allowing for her to wear it while on the job. That would reassure him of her constant safety, and it turned out that if someone without their own set of great powers was friend to the Sorcerer Supreme, they needed that sort of protection.

He considered telling her that he was really not worth the hassle. Her life was absolutely not worth the risk. At one point he almost did say it; the thought of her getting hurt because of him caused a numbness that he could hardly describe with mere words. But at the same time, Stephen knew her and he knew her stubbornness and realized that such a thing would not happen, not with him asking.

With the talisman done, he fell into another routine. There was so much more to learn before he could be the Sorcerer Supreme the Masters of Kamar-Taj expected, and if he didn't bring himself up to snuff soon, they would see him for the failure he currently was. He needed to bridge that gap as soon as possible, and thus the routine.

In the morning the day started with breakfast by himself, then after a scan of Earth for mystical threats or changes in the general atmosphere. The day continued with studying, creating, and/or practicing by himself within the Mirror Dimension. He'd eat dinner alone later in the evening in New York time, then hop over to Kamar-Taj to observe the first of the morning classes in Nepal— sometimes it was the physical training, sometimes basic spells, sometimes another thing altogether. The day ended when he went back to New York for bed.

And from there, it was rinse and repeat. He was interacting with the novices and apprentices (and the occasional acolyte) as Wong requested, and doing everything in his spare time to learn everything he didn't yet know, to practice, to just get better and better and not to be such a failure. He spoke to the Masters as needed, but truly they didn't need much from him; the dimensions surrounding Earth were quiet. It was the perfect time to do this.

Three weeks into this routine, Christine called and asked if he could spare time for lunch. Stephen frowned and gave his apologies; he really couldn't. He had to better himself, first.

Four and a half weeks into his new daily living and Wong pointed out that the ice cream stash was surprisingly not empty yet. Considering the ice cream was usually only touched when they were doing something together (and that 'something' varied from discussions on Chaos Magic theory to Wong's deplorable taste in reality TV), it made sense to Stephen. He simply had not had the _time_, not with everything he had to do the last month and a half.

"Oh, please go at it; I've just been rather busy," he said apologetically. Wong's blank look in return brought a strange feeling that he quickly numbed by pushing it to the back of his head. He offered his friend a polite smile and got back to work.

There was a Nepalese holiday, the Lunar New Year known as the Nepal Sambat, that Kamar-Taj had always honored, what with Nepal being the country that homed the ancient compound. They even continued to celebrate it when the Nepalese government suppressed the ancient tradition throughout much of the twentieth century. Stephen grimaced at being pulled away from his work for so long to see to the tradition, but he made the required appearance at Kamar-Taj, said the proper words, and let those in Kamar-Taj that were actually native to Nepal continue the rest. When it got to the actual celebrations, he slipped away back to New York.

There was still entirely too much work to be completed to bridge his failures.


End file.
